Blunt Force
by captivatedlady
Summary: Kink meme fill for prompt: Joe's group ambush on Rick was pretty epic, but I don't feel like Daryl would have been in such good shape after all that. I mean, he was receiving a pretty lengthy and thorough beating there. I was wanting a story that focuses on the aftermath of that encounter, most especially Daryl's injuries.


_"...still out."_

_"Check him, it's light ... Couldn't tell ..."_

Warm hands on his stomach slowly drug him up from the depths of sleep. He tried to open his eyes, but could only see slivers of light. They were so swollen he couldn't see a damn thing. He tried to raise up but daggers of pain sliced into his sides.

He grit his teeth against it, letting out a hiss of pain.

His hands grabbed onto whoever had their hands all over him.

"It's ok, it's just me." Michonne whispered. "Gotta see how bad..." she trailed off, working on the buttons of his shirt.

"Feel like shit." he groaned.

"You look it, too." she replied but without the usual humor.

He kept trying to open his eyes despite the pounding ache through his head.

"Rick? ..Carl?" he asked impatiently, not remembering anything from last night except boots to his ribs and fists to his face.

"They're both fine, everyone's fine. Except you."

"Hell, I've had worse," he spat, trying to sit again despite his body screaming in protest.

"NO," she ordered, hands pressed against his chest. Even though he couldn't see a damn thing, he knew from the tone of her voice that she was glaring at him.

He didn't have the strength or will to argue with her. Her fingers methodically went down each side, feeling his ribs. He winced audibly when she'd press on the particularly sensitive spots. She went about her ministrations silently, turning his face from side to side, inspecting his neck and face, occasionally making a indeterminate noise at whatever she was seeing. Every inch of his body was sore. He attempted to clench his hands into fists but the knuckles were all split up, fingers swollen to the point they could barely bend. He flinched at the damp cloth she cleaned his face with, holding it against the bridge of his nose. He could barely breath, his nose full of dried blood.

"We still on the road?" he asked, pretty sure he was somehow in the broke down SUV.

"Yeah, you were almost out so you got the presidential suite."

Her hands left him as she turned to exit the vehicle. Moments later she was back, lifting his head and popping pills into his mouth.

"Wash those down, then you rest" she whispered, holding a bottle of water to his mouth.

The last thing he remembered was Michonne's fingers gently pushing the hair from his forehead.

When he awoke again, despite swollen eyes, he could see a blurred outline of a man over him. Grunting, he immediately went on the defense, arms coming up to push them away.

"Daryl...Daryl, it's alright. It's Rick," he consoled in his calm, negotiating way from years of being the law.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Still can't see for shit."

"Both your eyes are dotted pretty good, man." There was a long pause, like he was going to say something but couldn't find the words.

"Just keep resting, I was just checking on you again before I turn in." Rick's fingers threaded through his hair, lifting his head and examining his head with gentle pressure, looking for any swelling.

"How long I been out man? 'Bout to piss myself." Daryl slurred, tongue still heavy with sleep.

Managing to sit up a bit, Rick helped him stand just outside the truck, supporting him while he took a leak.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Least I can do. You took some pretty hard blows for us." Rick said softly.

He laid back into the backseat of the truck. Every movement brought searing hot pain into his shoulders and abdomen. He grimaced through the pain.

"You're bruised up pretty bad. Don't think anything's broken but we're gonna camp here for a few days." Rick said, helping him get into a comfortable position.

"Be good to go by tomorrow," Daryl countered.

"Daryl, you can't even see," Carl added from just outside the car door, watching his dad.

"Ain't nothin out there worth seein' anyway," he huffed.

"We're staying." Rick ordered to both of them, gently placing more pills in Daryl's mouth and helping him wash them down with more water.

Sleep was restless the whole night, his body racked with pains and aches that the medicine barely touched. Nightmares plagued him, visions of Rick with a gun to his head, some lowlife asshole on top of Carl, that sick fucker Joe laughing while Carl cried out and he was getting the life beat out of him. Every so often someone would come to him in his sleep, soothing him. Michonne's fingers gently brushing the hair out of his face, Rick's soft voice repeating that he was ok, over and over. He could've sworn at one point Carl's hand was on his, shushing him back into sleep.

The next day, he woke and could see the damage for himself. Hands split all to hell, angry purple and blue bruising all over his sides, swollen black eyes and split lips.

"Good Lord, I do look like shit." he mumbled.

"Told ya," Michonne added with a smirk. She handed him another bottle of water and some more tylenol. "That's the last of what we have," she added, motioning to the pills.

He swallowed them down quickly.

"When we gonna start movin' again, getting 'bout tired of this scenery."

"Sure you ready?" she asked, one eyebrow raised in doubt.

"Yeah...I'm good" he mumbled. "Had good nurses."


End file.
